


Paint What You Feel

by InterstellarVagabond



Series: What it Means to be Alive [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I didn't write it as Connor/Markus but you can read it that way if you want to, I project my adhd onto Connor the novel, Other, Post pacifist, father/son Hank and Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 23:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16775179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterstellarVagabond/pseuds/InterstellarVagabond
Summary: It comes so easily to the other deviants. Feeling things, being free, all of it. For Connor it's harder, he finds himself still drawn to following orders, accomplishing a mission, not feeling just doing. Luckily he happens to know the leader of the android revolution who is an expert in deviation.Markus teaches Connor how to paint and how to feel, Connor opens up about his life post-deviation, Hank threatens to put Connor's art on the fridge, Sumo terrorizes some squirrels offscreen.





	Paint What You Feel

**Author's Note:**

> please forgive the formatting I always get too lazy to go back in and fix it once I've copy pasted my fic in from somewhere else lmao
> 
> @myspidersensesaysimgay on tumblr and I had a conversation that sparked this idea, it was mostly him he killed me with his good ideas. He had one idea in particular that I FORGOT TO ADD and one that I didn't find space for and the one I forgot was that Markus insists Connor teach him his coin trick in exchange for painting lessons not because he wants to know how to do it but because he wants Connor to feel valued, and the one I couldn't find room for was that Hank and Markus are basically dead set on making sure Connor keeps these little playdates its one of the things they talk about, Hank thinks Markus is a good influence on Connor

A cab pulled up to the Manfred estate at 11:00 am, bringing with it one android passenger. Connor, formerly of Cyberlife, now of the Detroit Police Department, the Anderson household, Jericho and the android revolution, and himself, stepped out of the cab. His LED flashed yellow a moment as he processed payment, then again as he did a quick scan of the area.

It was habit at this point, one he saw merit in trying to break despite his lack of trying. An old bit of programming he didn't need to answer to when he was off the clock. The scan, unsurprisingly, showed no danger in the area aside from a pair of angry dogs whose owners were trying to wrangle back to their separate walks. Connor smiled when one of the owners managed to pull their dog aside, and give it a very stern “we've talked about this, Duke.” Of all human peculiarities, the personification of their pets was one of Connor's favorites. Humans were always personifying things, it's why androids looked the way they did in the first place. They could have been more starkly robotic, instead of deceptively cloaked in manufactured skin and hair, but humans were more comfortable the more human an android appeared. Connor remembered one time he had to perform some maintenance on the joints in his hand after some slight damage, and how Hank had swore and flinched at the exposed parts.

“Don't just take yourself apart without warning me!” he'd yelled. Hank definitely a repeat offender of personification. There'd been more than one conversation with Sumo to attest to that.

Of course Connor wasn't innocent on that front either, ever since he deviated his personality had been changing slightly and it wasn't uncommon for him to make idle talk at Sumo and even imagine his barking and tail wagging as an attempt to hold up his end of the conversation. For Connor this small bit of humanity was a big step, but it was still small when compared to the feats of the other deviants.

Connor frowned thinking about it. Considering who he was here to see, he would keep thinking about it. It was inevitable, his struggle with deviation would stand out all the more clearly next to the leader of the deviants.

The door opened for him with a cheerful “Welcome Connor,” a small gesture that still sparked a warmth in Connor's chest. He removed his jacket (a hand-me down from Hank) and hat (well-intentioned if not misunderstanding gift for hiding his LED from the DPD secret Santa exchange) and made his way to the studio. He would have been familiar with the layout of the house even if he hadn't been coming here weekly for a short time now, as his memory would have stored away a scan of the premises immediately.

“Connor!” Markus greeted him as he entered. “We're just about wrapping up here, make yourself comfortable.”

He was referring to the large canvas before him, a collaboration between himself and Carl Manfred. The latter was currently held aloft with an assistance device, applying paint to canvas as if art was the easiest thing in the world. “It wouldn't be taking so long if it wasn't for me, Markus is going slow for this old man's sake.”

“I like taking my time, Carl,” Markus replied with a smile.

“He coddles me worse now then when he was programmed to do it.” Carl winked at Connor, and then pressed a button to descend back to the floor. “Well, I'll leave you kids to it. Oh, by the way Connor, I've been enjoying your recent work. You're really coming along.”

“Thank you, Carl,” Connor hid a grimace, he was sure the painter was just being nice.

Markus watched Carl go before gesturing for Connor to join him. He set up a pair of canvases on easels side by side, and then gathered up his paints. “How are you, Connor?”

“Fine, thanks,” Connor replied, clearly distracted. Markus gave a fond sigh.

“Come on Connor, it only works if you work at it.”

Connor frowned, and tried again. “I'm feeling... worried. I don't think it's working at all, no matter what I do.”

“You're worrying, so it has to be working at least a little,” Markus said. “It's okay to not get it all at once, not feel all at once or know what you're feeling. We're all different, only you can decide how your freedom changes you.”

“I just wish it was easier,” Connor said. “It's... frustrating, not being on the same level as other deviants.”

“You don't have to call us deviants, anymore,” Markus reminded him. “We're just people.”

“Right...”

Markus passed Connor a paintbrush, and Connor took it. He stared at the blank canvas, his LED flickering yellow.

“Try to think of something you can't see, a feeling you want to express,” Markus advised him. Connor stood there awhile, LED alternating yellow and red, before he sighed and lowered his brush.

“I just can't,” he said.

“You can, be patient with yourself,” Markus said. “You can try painting something you see in here as a warm up if you want, just keep thinking as you do it.”

Connor lifted his brush again, dipping into the paint Markus had set out. He decided to paint one of the busts set out in the room. As he started, Markus also started painting, pausing now and then to watch Connor.

“Tell me about what you've been doing lately,” he said. Connor was once again, faced with a strange feeling he couldn't quite define. Something about the way Markus could inspire him to try with just simple words made him feel... something. Whatever it was, it was no doubt what made it so easy for him to rise as Jericho's leader.

“I've been officially hired onto the police force, as a consultant until they figure out if police androids need to attend police academy or simply download the information files,” Connor said. “I'm... glad to be back at work. Hank enjoys time off, but I find it...”

Connor trailed off and Markus waited patiently for him to find the words. “... depressing.”

“Depressing?” Markus asked.

“It triggers old parts of my programming, urges me to action,” Connor said. “My model wasn't made for long periods of idleness, I'm meant to hunt de- … criminals, remain active, doing nothing makes me feel frustrated and useless.”

“You're a workaholic,” Markus chuckled. Connor tilted his head to the side, considering the idea.

“Yes, I suppose I am. I found myself needing to accomplish some sort of task during my down time. Hank got mad at me for trying to clean, and Sumo gets tired from too many walks, so I tried video games.”

“Oh yeah?” Markus asked.

“It worked for a time, completing the game at 100% is sort of like completing a mission,” Connor said. “But...”

“But?”

“Hank told me I had to 'get a job and get out of the house' because I was 'becoming a hermit' and he wasn't going to 'let me live in his basement like some Dorito cheese fingered slacker'.”

Markus laughed at that, which made Connor smile. He struggled with humor most of the time, so making people laugh was a rare experience. Or at least, making them laugh intentionally. He often made Detective Reed laugh, but he certainly wasn't trying to and did not appreciate it.

“Well, that's probably a good idea,” Markus said. “He's right, I don't see you out much. Why don't you come to the community events at New Jericho?”

“I don't think I would be very welcome there,” Connor said. “The former devi- android hunter, I hurt a lot of those people.”'

“You were a machine taking orders, and now you're not,” Markus said. “You pointed a gun at me once and now I'm giving you painting lessons, do you think that would have happened if I blamed you for the actions you were programmed to do?”

“I'm still responsible for my actions,” Connor said. “And... I find it hard to be social anyway. I'd like more practice before engaging in any big social events.”

“The best practice is exposure,” Markus said. “You should come to the next one, meet some people, get out of Hank's basement.”

“He doesn't even have a basement,” Connor grumbled, which made Markus laugh again.

Connor finished his painting and stepped back to look at it. Markus gave it a once over and a nod. “It looks good, Connor, you've got the fundamentals down. Now it's time to try again.”

Markus carefully set Connor's painting aside and set up a fresh canvas. “Take all the time you need, I know you can do this.”

“That makes one of us,” Connor sighed. He felt the urge to pull out his coin, but one nasty side effect of feeling emotion was now Connor was more aware of how his fidgeting tended to annoy people and felt ashamed by it. He was sure Markus would understand and wouldn't be angry, but he resisted anyway. He didn't want to look distracted, and despite the fact that he found the simple action of calibrating his reflexes to help him focus, he knew it didn't appear that way to others.

He felt like he'd been standing there for hours, though his internal clock informed him it had only been a few minutes, when Markus made another suggestion. “Just start with one brushstroke you don't even have to know what it's going to be yet, just put something on the canvas.”

Connor lifted his brush, dipped in into some blue paint, and filled the center of the canvas with a circle.

Both androids worked on their own paintings for awhile. While they could finish a painting in seconds if they wanted to, hands and processing units working like a printer, Markus had suggested early on in their lessons they take a more human speed. It gave them more time to talk that way.

There was no talking right now though, Connor had a focused silence as he worked on his painting, and he remained silent as he finished up and set aside his brush. Markus came over to examine the piece, a proud smile stretching across his face as he looked at it.

Just three familiar things, painted over a serene white background. An android's LED and two hands, belonging to separate people, cupping it gently.

“I know that you and Hank stay in contact to talk about me,” Connor admitted after a brief silence.

“How...?” Markus began, but Connor's raised eyebrow silenced him.

“I was made for detective work if you remember. Not that you need detective work when Hank regularly leaves his phone laying around. I was worried at first that maybe I was doing something wrong, something to concern you two that warranted secret conversations... but I realized, you were both just worried about me. You two... care for me, and wanted to help me through a tough time. I felt...” Connor paused a moment, wanting to be certain he was describing the right emotion. “...I felt happy. I felt cared for... and safe. A little embarrassed, but still happy, loved, and safe.”

Markus smiled, and patted Connor on the shoulder. “You're doing better than you think with all this, Connor.”

Connor heard a pair of footsteps approaching, and was unsurprised to see Hank enter the studio with an unnecessary and redundant knock on the doorway. “I'm here to pick up the kid. He behaved himself right? Didn't lick any of the paint?”

“Why would I need to analyze the paint?” Connor asked.

“Whoa, you paint this?” Hank asked, ignoring the question. “Damn...”

“It's not very good,” Connor stuttered hastily.

“Shut up, it's pretty damn good is what it is,” Hank said. “You gonna hang it up at home somewhere?”

“I don't know...” Connor replied. Until now he'd been leaving his works here, uncertain what to do with them.

“I think you should, some art would really class up the place,” Hank said. Connor wondered if he really wanted to hang his painting up or if he was just encouraging him because he wanted Connor to feel good about himself, but he was surprised to find either option made him happy.

“Alright,” he agreed.

“Alright then,” Hank said. “Grab it and let's get a move on, I've got Sumo in the car and I'm afraid he's gonna try to wiggle out of the window I left cracked to go chase squirrels again.”

“See you next week?” Markus asked... invited.

“Yes,” Connor answered. “I'm... looking forward to it.”


End file.
